


Five Six Five

by Ilral



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Adventure, Body Horror, Gen, Troll Transformation, blatantly non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilral/pseuds/Ilral
Summary: The crew abandoned Tuuri, and for good reason. She's days, maybe hours from turning into a troll.It will be a learning experience for all of usSpiritual sequel to Elleth's Synchronized Screaming post #8:Life So Far





	1. Silencer

The tank's rear running lights bled into the sunset as it trundled away. Tuuri, ankle-deep in the mud it had stirred up with its tracks, stood there until it had become invisible. She opened the leather pouch in her hand. There were a few photos inside, as well as a neatly folded paper map. Mikkel had circled one of the areas of wilderness they'd passed through. It was good... good hunting grounds.

She wiped the tears out of her eyes and tried to ignore the stinging in her shoulder and back. If she got walking now she could cover a good bit of ground by nightfall. She moved off of the tread marks and tried to wipe some of the mud off of her boots as she walked. The sun sank lower in the sky behind her.

The forest was dim even during the day, and the dusk's deepening shadows made her tense. A lifetime of instinct and training couldn't be overcome by knowledge, no matter how hard she tried. A branch snapped behind her and she started, then stumbled and shouted a curse as the pain on her back flared. The feeling of the rash hadn't been like she imagined. Instead of terribly itchy, the blistered, flaking skin of her back and shoulder burned like a hot poker had been laid over it.

The burning eventually went from a thousand degrees to only one hundred and fifty and she continued, with gritted teeth, until she came to a clearing between the tall pines. A few boulders littered the grassy ground, but other than that it was surprisingly well-kept. There must have been some grazing animals here that kept the grass in check. Tuuri thought about how many days it'd be until she ended up neck-deep in one of those animals as she gathered fallen branches.

A flinty patch on one of the boulders gave her a few sparks when struck with the dagger Sigrun had given her. The branches gave only a little heat, and even less light as they burned. She pulled off her gloves and held her hands over the fire. A patch of redness had appeared on her wrist since she last checked. She yawned in spite of the ache in her back, and lay down. She wasn't hungry tonight anyway.

The parka wasn't as snug as it had been when they set out, but it still pressed against her as she did up the leather clasps as tight as they went. The pain went away a little as the quilted linen pressed against her back. She gave up on keeping her eyes open, breathed out, and let darkness take her. Hopefully it wouldn't be the last time.

  


She woke up more tired than when she'd laid down. The ache had subsided back to the dull stinging she'd felt yesterday. She'd been tired that morning, too. Anyone would be, after waking up to Reynir yelping as Kisu tried to claw her way through him and out of the tank. Nobody was less surprised than her at that point. Their hopes had already been dashed days ago with the first cluster of scabs that popped up on her shoulder.

Yawning, she sat up and looked around. A dusting of snow had fallen during the night, and the embers of her campfire sat in a pool of ashy water. She cupped a hand and sloshed some of it down her parched throat, grimacing at the bitterness. Best to conserve what little water she had.

The water woke her stomach, it seemed, and gnawing hunger drove Tuuri to move from sitting to standing. The straps on her parka were looser than they had been last night. She tried not to think about how her body was using all of that mass as she took a quick inventory of the provisions in her pockets. Two strips of dried venison and a packet of thin crispbread--that was all they'd been able to spare for her. At least the others would eat a little better on the way home.

The reindeer meat looked more appealing than the crispbread right now, so she tore into a strip with her teeth. The salt that Mikkel had packed into the meat almost drowned out the musk. Better to get used to that flavor now--before long, she'd be eating venison unsalted. And uncooked.

The strip didn't fill her belly, but there wouldn't be enough left to last the day if she ate any more. She brushed some of the snow aside and sat down to think about what to do next. She could go anywhere, really, without the threat of trolls. Anywhere she could reach in a day or two, at least. Who knew how much executive control she'd have after that.

Her teacher in the skald's barracks had posed a similar question to them once, as an essay prompt. "What would you do if you had one day to live?" The prompt had been written pre-Rash, she suspected. It hit a little close to home in modern times, when death could well be less than a day away. Still, it had been an interesting essay to write.

Books, she had decided, were the thing she'd value in those final hours. No point in an extravagant final meal or a confession of love--those were material things. You couldn't take them with you. But, at least according to Onni's lectures, you could remember what you'd learned and use it in the afterlife.

She unfurled the same map as yesterday’s. Her wet fingers left damp spots on the paper and blurred the print. Where to find books? The hospital was one option, but it was a long way off. Besides, it was a tall building, and dying because some section of floor collapsed under her seemed rather undignified. At this point, dignity was just about all she had left.

Where else, then? There were a couple closer spots, but most of them were marked with an X in red pen to indicate that they'd been emptied out. The only partially emptied spot closer than the hospital was the antiques shop. It looked just about close enough to walk, too.

There was no compass to go with the map, but, knowing the time, Tuuri could just about estimate which way was which by looking at the sun. A few pine needles dropped from the boughs she pushed aside on her way out of the clearing.

She hadn't seen the clawed footprints in the snow behind the boulder.

  


The weather got worse a few hours in. Well, it didn't "get worse." It had been bad, then it had gotten better, than it returned to its normal state. Which was snow so thick it nearly obscured Tuuri's vision and bitingly cold winds.  She was shivering even under the parka.

The cold negated the burning of Tuuri's rash, but nothing took its place. The inner warmth and feeling of life was gone, and the infected flesh seemed to hang off of her like choice cuts at a butcher’s shop. She was pretty sure that if she checked her pulse in her left wrist there wouldn't be anything there.

Putting a hand to her forehead, she tried to see the sun through the snow and clouds. It was no use. In all likelihood, she'd die out here. Actually die, too, not just become a monster. She'd expected that chance to bring her some closure, but whenever she contemplated simply sitting down and freezing, there was a burst of pain in her back and arm.

Driven by the rash to keep walking, Tuuri stuck close to the rusted remains of the shoulder-rail of an ancient highway. She'd banged her knee on one a few hours ago, and only then noticed the road that trailed off in quite a similar direction to her own. It was faster to move across the road than the tangled underbrush of the forest to either side, so she'd forgiven it for the injury and followed it.

Through a momentary part in the snow she spotted the remains of a pre-Rash way station ahead. Sigrun had told her about these as the team had passed by them on the way north. Perfect breeding grounds for trolls--they were built out of thick cinderblock and were well insulated. As long as the roof was intact, you could be almost sure that a troll was inside. Emil had backed her up on this point, though he'd seemed more concerned with the tanks of fuel the old-worlders had buried under them.

A small bell hung over the glass door jingled as she pushed her way inside, struggling against the rusted hinges. The inside was relatively pristine--all of the furniture was still in the same places and the shelves even had a few inedible items left on them. This station must have been far enough from the riots to avoid looters.

Tuuri sat down on a stool behind the low counter at one side of the room and rubbed her aching legs. She pulled off her left glove to check the progress of the rash. It had nearly covered her whole hand, and a lot of the webbing between her palm and thumb had flaked away. She gagged as she glimpsed the bits of skin and muscle in the glove. If it was progressing this fast, there was no point in waiting out the storm here. The station would have to be only a momentary rest stop.

A dark shape in the far corner rustled and stood up. It was an ugly beast, or maybe a very ugly troll. The thing was four-legged with a pointed canine snout and its hide was covered in twisting keloid scars. It let out a low moan and stumbled over to her. She jumped up onto her chair, squawking, but the beast didn't attack. It unrolled a long tongue and licked at her exposed, disfigured hand. Its breath was lukewarm.

The saliva soothed the burning, paradoxically, and Tuuri sat there for a few minutes just letting the beast lick her. A month ago, this would have been almost certain death. Today, death was already certain. Oh well.

The weather outside hadn't gotten any better, but she could feel her hands (one of them, at least) and both her feet. She shooed the beast away and it curled up in its corner. She pushed through the door, leaving behind a wedge of clear ground outside, and stepped back into the snowstorm.

  


The sky was getting darker. By Tuuri's estimates she should have gotten to the shop hours ago, but the highway barrier had curved away a few miles back and since then she'd gone on the hope that she could keep walking in a straight line. Clearly she'd been overly optimistic. Eh, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

The fact that she was lost didn't bother her that much. The cold was worse. It chilled straight through to her bones. She couldn't feel her left arm at all. There was a tickle on the back of her neck too. Going ahead didn't seem so important anymore. She just needed to be warm.

What had she read in that book? Something about an old herder's technique, to make shelters out of the snow. Apparently it was a good insulator, or something. There was a small hillock of snow nearby--she could dig into that.

Tuuri fell to her knees in front of the pile and started pulling away chunks of wet snow with her hands. Icy water slipped in between the wool, and her infected hand left red streaks in the pile as she dug. The snow formed a roof above her as she leaned into the growing hole.

She wasn't feeling any warmer.  Maybe it only worked after the shelter was sealed, but that seemed so far away. She yawned through chattering teeth. The cold wasn't keeping her awake like she'd expected. Pulling out the snow was tiring work, and she was barely shoulder-deep in the snowdrift.

Defiant, she pushed her left hand down into the snow and tried to pick up another handful. It was no use--her arm simply wouldn't obey. Its healthy partner on the right was quivering too. She collapsed into the snow. The flakes scratched against her eyelids and her tears froze around her eyelashes.

Her arms flailed weakly, but she couldn't lift herself up. Eventually she stopped, inert arms thudding into the drift. This wasn't so bad, really. Sure, she was cold and wet, but at least the snow was soft enough. And she was so tired now. Maybe a solution would present itself in the morning. It would have been nice to see the bookstore again, she thought before her vision faded from dull red to complete blackness.


	2. Promoter

The first thing Tuuri noticed when she woke up was that the burning in her back was gone. The second thing was the icy brine pressing against her eyes and mouth. She panicked, frantically tearing at the water to reach the surface. Her head thudded against a transparent barrier. She scratched against it, splitting her nails and exerting her arms to the point of exhaustion., but to no avail. The last thing she saw before she fainted was the moonlight shining down into the water, just out of reach. 

A wide, jellyfish-like bubble floated out of her mouth and flattened against the ice. The water filled her lungs. At this point, her hind-brain was a bit confused. There was certainly no oxygen coming from the water, but something was keeping it oxygenated. Being a hind-brain, it had no way of knowing that breathing was more of a suggestion than a requirement in this plane.

After a few hours she awoke again. The hormones had mostly filtered out of her bloodstream by then, and she regarded the state of her lungs as more of an oddity compared to whatever had wrapped just itself around her ankle. It looked like a piece of seaweed, but she could swear she felt soft flesh instead of plant fibers through her boot. There were a few spots that felt like claws, too.

The seaweed pulled at her ankle, dragging her sideways under the ice. The moon in the sky above was massive, and she could swear that the craters on its face were different. There were no stars in the sky, either, at least not any bright enough to see. Turning to look down, she could see strands of long sea grass swaying in the current. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but instead of a healthy green, the strands were ghostly white and translucent. They trailed off into the deeps, and she couldn't see the bottom.

Tuuri flipped back upright to quell her growing sense of vertigo. The seaweed pulled her along for what seemed like hours, sometimes turning or stopping, but always going back to the same heading in the end. As it pulled her the moon became clearer as the rippling distortions cause by the ice grew less intense. 

The grip released her suddenly. She didn't drift as she would have while swimming, instead just floating still in the water. The ice above her was almost imperceptible. She put a hand against it. It felt warm, almost uncomfortably so, like the doorknob of a recently-used sauna. Thin white cracks spread out from her fingertips as she pressed harder.

The ice shattered with a sound like breaking glass, and she thrust her head up into the sweltering air above. Her perceptions suddenly shifted. The freezing water was gone, and the moon, returned to regular size, was visible through the branches of dormant trees. A fire crackled nearby. She realized that she was intensely tired, and had to struggle to keep her eyes open.

She tried to roll over and gasped. She ached like she'd just run five miles around Keuruu's track. The burning of the rash was back too, and it had spread to her hips and was starting to creep around her chest. She flopped her head over onto its side to look towards the fire. The motion pulled painfully at the blistered skin on the back of her neck.

The fire was small but burning brightly, and a robed figure sat near it, prodding the blaze every so often with a metal poker. The figure looked over to her, its face hidden by the shadows, and grunted. Was this her mysterious rescuer? A nearby row of bushes rustled in response. 

A short troll hopped out, and she tried to yell a warning. The most she could muster was a reedy moan. The figure didn't seem surprised as it walked over to her. The troll looked something like a bird, albeit one with a long, muscular tail and no wings or feathers. Notably, in place of a neck or head were ten or twelve pale human arms that waved and grasped madly. Hidden between them was a round mouth ringed by rows of broad incisors. One of its arms was dragging a trio of dead pheasants behind it.

Tuuri's eyes widened as it sat down next to the figure and handed it a bird. The figure took the body into one of its covered hands and turned away from her to eat. The troll threw another one of the birds into its mouth and chewed it up. She gagged--the action of its mouth on the meat reminded her of some of the nastier accidents she'd seen in the machine shop. The troll angled its entire body up to swallow its mangled meal, jerking forward like a bird swallowing. 

It turned towards her and seemed to be examining her. She didn't know what with--the troll didn't have any visible eyes. It stood up and plodded over to her. She tried to ignore the smell of rancid meat and sweat the thing exuded. It dropped the final bird in front of her head and pointed to it. Tuuri didn't think too much about how or why the troll was doing this. The aching in her limbs combined with the burning in her back and arm distracted her from doing much more than watching.

The troll made a sound somewhere between a huff and a burp as she stared at it blankly. It picked up the pheasant and walked back over to the hooded figure. She tried to say something to the pair, but instead she yawned. The aches and pains faded away as she fell asleep.

 

She woke up to the chirping of birds and the soft creaks of swaying trees. What she had seen last night seemed dreamlike in the morning, probably a hallucination brought on by the rash spreading into her visual cortex. She sniffed--the scent of cooked meat was on the air. The dry needles next to her rustled and she opened her eyes.

Tuuri screamed, her chest aching, at sight of the troll standing over her. She tried to jump away and lifted about her torso six inches off of the ground before thumping back down. It took a step back, confused, as she raised her trembling arms in a defensive posture. The two of them sat there for a moment, her staring at the troll and the troll presumably looking back at her. What the hell was it waiting for, an invitation to eat her?

It lifted up all of its arms and spread them out, opening the palms of most of them. The only thing it was holding was the pheasant from last night, now plucked and roasted. It thrust the bird towards her. 

She didn't know what force had compelled this mindless creature to cook her food, but her stomach rumbled regardless. Slowly, achingly, Tuuri reached out a hand towards the food. The troll placed a clammy hand against hers and raised a finger, waving it wardingly. At the same time, using a third arm, it peeled away a piece of breast meat from the pheasant and brought it to her mouth, stepping closer as it did so. 

The fat dribbled against her chapped lips, and she slowly opened her mouth. The troll dropped the meat in and she winced. It was still quite hot, but the flavor was incredible. She'd almost forgotten the taste of meat that didn't have candles or oats mixed in. Despite her fear, she chewed greedily and gulped it down. The troll made to put another piece in her mouth and she shook her head. 

It threw up its uppermost pair of hands and backed away, placing the bird in her still-extended hand. She flopped her other arm over and grasped it. The infected tissue of her hand deformed under the glove like putty, but disturbingly it didn't hurt. She tried to rise to a sitting position but her back twinged and she decided to eat lying down. Grease soaked into her gloves as she raised it to her mouth and ate, trying to avoid the areas flecked with dirt and blood from the troll's hand. 

 

When Tuuri had finished eating, she tried to sit up again. Fighting through the pain, she lifted up her torso and crossed her legs. For a moment, she was fully upright, but then her back gave out and she leaned forward to support her body with her arms. From her new vantage point, she surveyed the area.

She sat near the edge of a small clearing surrounded by firs and a few naked maples. The underbrush around the edges prevented her from seeing further. There was a heap of gently glowing embers in the middle of the clearing.The robed figure was lying on the opposite side of the fire pit, its broad back facing her. There was a large canvas rucksack lying near it. The troll had run off somewhere while she was eating. 

Her throat ached as she called out to the robed figure in Swedish. "Hello?" 

The figure rolled further onto his stomach and let out a grumbling moan. It reached out a hand for the rucksack and yanked the bag towards itself. Various metal and glass objects inside clanked against each other for a few moments as it rifled through, then it rolled over and rose to its feet.

The figure was far taller than anyone she'd ever met--easily seven or eight feet. It wore a metal mask over its face-a crude thing with two eye slits and a grid of holes for breathing. Tuuri couldn't see an inch of the figure's flesh, but a few strands of brown hair had snuck out through the mouth holes. She assumed it was male, if only to pin down something about the stranger. He clutched a flat chunk of slate and a bit of chalk in a gloved hand, which he used to carefully write a reply in Danish.

"Hello little woman." The man's handwriting was atrocious, which didn't help her to read the unfamiliar language. "Name?" he continued.

"I'm Tuuri Hotakainen. Who are you?"

The man paused for a moment. He scribbled something onto the slate, then wiped it away with his sleeve and started over. When he eventually lifted the tablet, it was nearly covered in writing. "Nobody other than father uses a name for me. Calls me Bærn. Why do you ask?"

She knew her next question would be rude, but her curiosity took precedence. "Why does nobody use your name?"

He avoided her gaze, almost cowering as he wiped the slate and wrote another few words. "Father says not to tell. He does not know if you are safe to tell." 

"Why am I--" She shook her head. No way he'd tell her that given his reaction to such a simple question. "Never mind. Why'd you rescue me? I'm infected, just so you know."

The man laughed, his voice impossibly deep. "That is the whole point." he scrawled.

Her confusion boiled over into frustration. "What the hell does that mean!? Nobody needs or wants an infected person! I'm--I'm just going to be a damn monster." She folded into herself, tears hot on her face. The realization had hit her like a freight train. There was no way back, no military base to flee to. Hot breakfast or hardtack; rescue or freezing to death, it didn't make a single difference!

Bærn scrawled something on his slate, but she didn't look up to read. Maybe if she sat here long enough, she'd finish turning and he'd leave her alone. She sobbed into her arms for a few moments before she felt a strong hand against her shoulder. The grasp wasn't reassuring, but she didn't resist as he pulled her up. Her knees quivered as she looked up to see what he had written.

"Be happy. Helps with walking." He leaned down and placed the slate and chalk back into the bag before shouldering it. The troll walked back into the clearing. How had she not noticed the sores covering it, the missing fingers, the rotted teeth? She remembered telling Mikkel that life as a troll wouldn't be so bad, she was sure. His laugh echoed in her mind, as did the pained silence after he'd realized she wasn't joking.

The troll stood in front of Bærn for a moment, arms waving vacantly. Then it turned on an elongated foot and tromped out of the clearing. He followed it and motioned for her to do the same. She pushed through the underbrush behind him.


	3. Five Prime

They walked for hours, following the rising sun deeper into the forest. From time to time they stopped so that she could rest. Bærn stayed with her during this period, and told her via his chalkboard that she could rest as long as she needed, but he also began fidgeting impatiently as soon as she sat on a log, or a smooth rock, or an abandoned park bench. 

In contrast, the troll ranged ahead constantly. Carried on its long legs, it could cover the uneven forest floor much faster than the two of them, only occasionally returning. Bærn refused to explain what it was doing on these trips. 

The sun was nearly at its zenith when Tuuri tripped on a branch and fell to the ground.She tried to regain her footing, but her legs were thrashing about uncontrollably. Bærn stood over her, wringing his hands. She screamed as her ankle bashed against a sharp rock. Dark spots of blood stained the yellow leaves under her. 

The troll reappeared suddenly, running with arms folded over its mouth.Giving her legs a wide berth, it skidded to a stop and moved to stand over her. She yelped as it unclasped her parka and pulled it out from under her. The friction rolled her undershirt up to the bottom of her chest, just below her ribs. Pain rippled across her stomach.

The pleated inner lining of the parka was stained a deep red. The undershirt no doubt was as well, but the dark color hid any blood. The rolled up section was covered in a layer of shed skin and blood. Tuuri's stomach was a ruin of congealed blood and hunks of pale skin. In a few places, shiny pink hide showed through. The troll wiped away some of the mess with the side of a hand and examined it. With a dismissive motion, it flicked the clot into the underbrush and began removing more of her clothing.

It avoided her gloves--probably a good idea since at this point they seemed to be the only things holding her disintegrating hands together. Instead, it started in on the undershirt. For a moment, Tuuri tried to swat its hands away and retain her dignity, but her embarrassment turned to nausea as she say the mess that her chest had become. There was little left to hide over her rib cage, not that there had been that much before.

The troll removed her pants, too, though by Ukko's mercy it didn't go so far as to take her underpants. Her legs were blurred by their constant motion, but they seemed mostly intact compared to her torso. It stood still for a moment then motioned to Bærn. He fished a blanket and a coil of oddly shiny rope from his backpack. Grabbing her feet with unnatural strength, it looped the rope around them and tied it off. 

She groaned as her legs strained against the binding. Her boots protected her from rope burn, but the force her muscles exerted fruitlessly stretched her ligaments almost to breaking. The troll nudged her arms against her body and wrapped her in the blanket. Two crossed loops of rope bound the cloth, and her limbs, in place. 

Bærn reached down and she yelped as he hoisted her up and stuck his arms through the slack of the ropes. After a few adjustments, she ended up hanging from his back like a bedroll, with the backpack under her providing a little support. Her scream petered off, but her eyes still darted about frantically. 

The trees in her view blurred away as Bærn and the troll took off running. Tuuri was jostled around and poked in the ribs by the contents of his backpack as they ran. Her legs had stilled only a few minutes after her suspension, but her rescuers had made no move to untie her. It seemed that they preferred the increased speed to her goodwill. 

 

A few hours later, Bærn leaned down and set her down in the dirt. The troll quickly attended to the knots and she stood up, trying not to look at how much of her flesh was still stuck to the blanket's cloth. They were at the crest of a hill, and a cold drizzle chilled her exposed skin. To her surprise, the pain from the rash was nearly gone across her torso and upper arms. Her hands and legs still burned, though, and there was a disturbing pressure against the inside of her rib cage. The trees did not continue down into the valley, and she stood up, legs still shaky and partially numb.

She gasped. Below them, amid the trees and trolls, was a tiny village. Most of the buildings seemed to be new construction, too, with whitewashed cinderblock walls and trim wooden roofs. Smoke spiraled up from several of the houses, but she couldn't see any people on the streets. “Is that where you live?” she asked.

Bærn chuckled and shrugged before he handed her her clothes back. The underclothes were almost rigid with congealed blood, but there wasn't anything else to wear. After she put them on, she strapped on her parka, savoring the warmth. He took her hand and tugged her away from the view. There was a trail leading off perpendicular to the village, marked with small stone cairns every few meters.

The troll took the lead as they headed down this trail. The footing was much better here, but Tuuri still made much slower progress than the other two had while carrying her. Her legs had still been achy when she'd woken up that morning, and the mile or two she'd been able to walk earlier hadn't helped. She was about to ask for a rest when they came upon a small house in the woods.

It wasn't made of cinder blocks like the homes she'd seen earlier, but instead planks of dark stained wood. There was no roof, or maybe no walls. The house was built in an A frame pattern, with a small outcropping on one side supporting the door. Both of the end cap walls were covered by patchwork curtains made of white canvas. 

The troll opened the door and held it for Bærn and her. He walked in and shrugged off his backpack in a small nook near the door bordered by shelves and cabinets. She followed him in, peering around curiously. The house had no interior walls, and the only division between its two rooms was a low counter. The main source of light was a large skylight built into one wall, as well as a few candles and lanterns scattered about the place.

On one side, there was a cast iron woodstove and a drying rack with a few hocks of meat hung off of it, along with a table and a few chairs. The other side appeared to be a cross between storage area and bedroom. In the middle of the space was an elevated platform with a large fur-covered bed. It was surrounded by shelves and chests. Her eyes brightened a little when she spotted the well-stocked bookcase near the back of the house. The troll had scuttled off somewhere by the time she thought to look for it--maybe it had climbed the curious assembly of ropes and wooden bars on that side that led up into a hole in the ceiling. 

Tuuri wondered if that was where the troll slept. Did trolls sleep? Sigrun had said that they didn't, but she'd also said that they didn't pull people out of snowbanks or cook them food. She sat down on a chest to ponder this. Sure, the troll had done those things, but it showed no sign of wanting to or even being able to communicate. Was Bærn keeping it as a pet? Would he keep her as a pet, when she turned? She yelped and jumped as the masked man thumped something down next to her. It was a steel plate with a heel of dark bread and a few thick slices of black sausage. A knife clattered down next to it a moment later.

She cut off a piece of the black sausage and looked at it cautiously. It smelled like rust and rancid meat. Taking a bite, she discovered that it didn't taste much better. Grimacing, she pushed the foul stuff away from the bread, and picked that up. Bærn growled, and pushed the sausage back into the middle of the plate. She ate around it, and quickly finished the bread. Moving to stand up, she rammed directly into his thickly-built torso and sat back down slightly dazed. He pointed to the sausage with a gloved finger.

Tuuri made a disgusted noise and choked down the slices. When she finished and looked up, she saw that Bærn had pulled some furs and linens out of a nearby chest and heaped them next to his own bed on the platform. He looked up after she'd stared at him for a few moments, and placed his hands together before resting his head on them. 

"I'm sleeping there?" she asked. He nodded in response, then pointed firmly to the pile. "I don't need to sleep yet, though." She was lying--her head was fogged with exhaustion. Something in her didn't want to follow his orders now, not after what she'd just thought about. What if this was the last day she'd be able to spend as a free individual?

Bærn shrugged and pointed to the pile again. 

"How will I sleep if I'm not tired?" 

He pointed to the pile again, then mimed sleeping. This time, though, he shook his head afterwards. 

"You don't want me to sleep now? Make up your mind!"

He shook his head again, more forcefully. He pulled something out of an imaginary pocket and inspected it closely, then mimed sleeping again. 

"Time? I don't have to sleep right away?" She was grasping at straws, but to her surprise Bærn nodded. The holes in his mask burned into her back as she stood up and walked over to the bookshelf and looked it over more closely. Even if he was had kidnapped her, the masked man had an impressive collection. She assumed so at least--the titles were unreadable or unfamiliar. She picked one of the few volumes with a title in Swedish, and carried it back to the platform. 

The furs were surprisingly soft under her, and she burrowed down into them a little to find a more comfortable position. No way she would take off her clothes in front of him... voluntarily, at least. She'd need to have words with him about the troll's behavior later, if she still had that capability. Bærn seemed satisfied, and he returned to his various domestic tasks as Tuuri began reading her book. 

It was good book, and to its credit it kept her awake until sunset. After that, though, it wasn't long before the words began to swim in front of her eyes, and she started missing whole paragraphs because she was drifting off to sleep. Bærn looked over at her and chuckled. He shuttered the lanterns and snuffed the candles, leaving only the dim illumination of the setting sun, before trundling over to his own bed and collapsing onto it. He was snoring seconds after touching the mattress. She glanced at him warily before pulling up a sheepskin over herself and letting her eyes fall closed.

 

When Tuuri woke up, her eyes wouldn't open. Not as if they were held shut by something, either. Her eyelids simply didn't respond. Colored spots danced around in her field of view. They weren't vividly colored, mostly shades of brown and white. The colors shifted as the dots moved, too.

Mikkel had said that loss of the eyes was a telltale sign that a person or animal was almost finished changing. So this was her first day as a troll? She tried and failed to stand up, and chose to ignore the fact that her legs appeared to have increased in number. Worse, the rhythmic wriggling of her new feet was definitely coming from farther away than her old body had gone on for.

There was a whisper in an unfamiliar voice. " _ The girl's awake? _ " Tuuri couldn't pinpoint the source--it seemed almost to be coming from between her ears, or maybe every spot around her at once. 

Another, gruffer, voice responded. " _ Not sure. Come down here and see for yourself. _ " She heard the clacking of wooden parts to her left, and a burst of footsteps from someone with bare feet. The troll? The colors in front of her shifted suddenly, with the dots near the middle gaining a splash of bright red. 

The first voice sounded again, with no hushed tones. " _ Girl, can you hear me? _ " She nodded, trying to articulate a response. A touch of panic entered her mind when her tongue flatly refused to move, turning a complaint into a long moan.

" _ You won't be able to talk or walk yet, sorry. Might take a few hours to get used to the new body. I know you have a lot of questions, but they'll be a lot easier to answer if you can at least see. _ " The voice almost reminded her of Mikkel, at least in terms of the accent. It certainly held a lot more emotion than him, and it was half an octave higher. " _ The process will go faster if you follow my instructions. You see the red dots in the middle of your vision? _ " She nodded. " _ Try and draw them together, and move the other dots towards them too. It'll be hard at first. _ "

Tuuri concentrated on the reddish cluster, but no matter how much she wrinkled her brow or made noises of consternation, there was no clear way to move them. " _ Just close your eyes. _ " said the other voice, with a sigh. There was a growl of annoyance from the first voice as she followed the advice. To her surprise, the dots swirled around each other, drawing tighter together. Her eyes twinged in an unfamiliar way. When they were close enough something strange appeared. Where before each dot had seemed to be a monochrome speck, now it became clear that each one was actually a tiny pinhole that showed part of her old field of vision. When they all came together, it was as if she was looking out of a small mesh grate.

Standing in front of her was the troll, holding up an old alphabet flashcard-- _Æ for_ _Æble_ , which explained the redness of the middle dots. Her peripheral vision was nonexistent, but she turned her head and saw Bærn sitting on the bed next to her, still wearing his mask. She wasn't ready to look down at her own body. The first voice finally spoke up again after she'd looked around. " _How will she ever learn this new body if we match every action to an old one?”_

" _ Same way you did _ ."

" _ But what's she supposed to do with all those... You know what, we can argue this later. The girl's getting antsy. _ "  Despite her increasing desire to correct the voice, Tuuri's tongue still wasn't moving. She settled for an irritated stare instead.  _ "Oh yeah, you can just talk in your head and we'll hear it if you speak up. _ "

" _ Telepathy? _ " she wondered, making sure to push the thought to the front of her mind.

" _ Most of the infected can communicate via thought, though Tyge wouldn't want you to call it telepathy _ ." said the first voice.

" _ Tyge? _ " she asked.

" _ His brother. _ " said the second voice, after a short pause.

" _ You don't have to interrupt. I was trying to figure out how to put it! _ " There was another pause. " _ Tyge is my brother, yeah. He lives in that town down the hill. I'm Edvin Birgersen, nice to meet you. _ " To her mild surprise, the troll extended a hand to her. 

Tuuri moved to shake it, and saw... no, that couldn't be right. She could still feel her fingers. Still, where her hand would have been yesterday there was a strange appendage, somewhere between a crab claw and a bull's horns. Her wrist was normal, but above that her arm branched into two thick, short fingers. Thick claws extended from each fingertip, each about the width of the finger and three times as long. She flexed her unseen fingers and the claws clacked together, the shorter one fitting into a small groove on its counterpart.

She grasped the troll's--no, Edvin's hand carefully, so as not to skewer him, and shook it. He chuckled mentally at the strange display. " _ At least I still have a head! _ " she replied, irritated by his mirth.

"Sorry, sorry." he said, trying to calm himself "It's just funny to me that I decided to greet you with a handshake. I mean, I figured that it's the same thing I do with Bærn--but that makes it even worse, hah!"

"She doesn't know anything about that, Edvin. If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to tell her myself. In private." the gruffer voice replied, revealing itself to be Bærn's. 

" _ Your choice to make, I guess. Anyway, girl, now that we're all up, would you like something to eat? Think I have some venison around here that's not half rotten _ ..." said Edvin, his voice trailing off as he walked into the kitchen and began pawing through the dried meats hung above the stove. 

Bærn remained on the bed, staring down at her curiously. Tuuri lost her sense of irritation as she stared up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. They sat there for a long moment, listening to Edvin rattle the pots in the kitchen, before Bærn cocked his head at the expression on her face. " _ What's wrong, Tuuri Hotakainen? _ "

" _ I'm not sure if I prefer people not using my name or always using the full name. _ " she mused.

" _ You're deflecting. _ "

" _ I don't feel comfortable sharing my feelings, sorry. I've only had one conversation with you and haven't even seen your face. _ "

" _ Another good effort, but I've lived among you people long enough to figure out those tricks. _ "

" _ And not long enough to figure out that it's rude to pry, apparently _ ." She tried to stand up and move away from him, but her legs weren't under her or working like human appendages. He reached down a hand to help her up. He'd taken his gloves off at some point, and the hand underneath was a mess. It had five fingers, at least, but they were inhumanly stubby and two of them had rotated onto the other side of the palm and formed thumbs of a sort. The nails were long and black, though they at least appeared well-cared-for.

Tuuri wrapped the dull inner surfaces of her claw around his and and let him pull her. By the time her torso was fully upright her legs remained solidly set on the ground behind her. Not only was she unable to get them under her, they appeared to no longer have any objection to bending ninety degrees backwards. She tried to look backwards, but her head, at least, still had a normal human range of motion, and her new vision wasn't wide-angle enough to see how her lower body had changed. Her hips flexed ineffectively as she tried to gain her footing. 

" _ That won't work. _ " Bærn said, bemused.

" _ It'd help if you told me what the deal was with my legs. _ " 

" _ You're familiar with caterpillars, yes? Those little boneless legs they have? You've got ten of those attached to your lower body, which, as far as I can tell, consists of your human legs fused together. Might need to ask Edvin's brother about that guess, though _ ." 

She tried to move her legs again, and focused on the rippling sensation. As Bærn had said, there were ten distinct bits of her moving around down there. With a little effort, she marshaled the prolegs under herself and stood up. Unfortunately, the stubs only lifted her a few inches off of the ground. She was still staring up at Bærn, even though he was still seated on the bed. With a gait that she hoped conveyed defiance, she waddled away from him, tripping a few times and bruising her underside. Eventually, she flopped back down, exhausted.

Bærn stood and covered the distance in two strides. Tuuri moaned, and Edvin glanced over the divider before returning to his cooking. Bærn sat cross-legged next to her. " _ I'm not trying to take advantage of you, Tuuri. Spirits above, I've got my own secrets. All I want is to help you through this nasty stage of your life. So, what's the problem? _ " 

She grunted and turned her head away from him, crossing her arms. " _ Fine, I'll tell you. But you'll think it's dumb. _ " He raised his voice to object, and she cut him off. " _ I expected to be foaming at the mouth and chewing on kittens by now. But instead I'm in a house that's arguably nicer than where I used to live, and a  _ troll  _ is making me breakfast. _ "

Bærn hummed in commiseration. " _ You're not sure how to repay our kindness, and it makes you uncomfortable to be around us. I get it. _ "

" _ What? No! That's not it at all. I feel confused and, I guess a little bit betrayed because all throughout my life everyone's told me that trolls are monsters, that I'd die if I ever went outside. Now I find out that all my teachers, my parents, even my own brother lied to me about this.  I mean, if they lied about this, what else did they lie about? _ "

It was his turn to cut her off. " _ They weren't lying. Any troll they would ever meet would match that description. I don't know much about your party -- only ever saw the humans through a telescope -- but they helped you out a lot by leaving you behind. _ "

" _ Are all the people in your town this cryptic? _ " she asked.

" _ I'm sorry to be so vague. I honestly can't explain it any better than that, though I'm sure Edvin could. And he probably will, knowing him _ ." There was a ringing from the kitchen, and they looked over to see Edvin playing a rusty triangle. " _ Speak of the devil. Looks like breakfast is served. _ "  Bærn got up and walked off towards the kitchen. Tuuri tried to follow, working her legs madly, but they collapsed under her and she fell to the floor again, out of breath.

" _ Would you like some help? _ " Bærn asked.

Tuuri frowned, trying to pull herself forward again, before giving up. Her arms hung dejectedly as she replied. "Y _ es. _ "

Bærn turned around and crouched down next to her before sticking his arms under her lower body like the prongs of a forklift and hoisting her up. " _ You're lighter than you look. Huh. Bet you were half-starved before turning. Something to work on during breakfast. _ "


End file.
